


Ethnoentomology: Midnight Rider

by Piston24, Wrongful



Series: Ethnoentomology [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Crime Fighting, Female Protagonist, MC is a criminal, Musical References, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piston24/pseuds/Piston24, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrongful/pseuds/Wrongful
Summary: Los Angeles, California. July of 1990.A young woman, a petty thief, on the run for shooting an "unarmed" man in broad daylight, accidentally finds her way into a flourishing Hallownest.Prequel to Ethnoentomology.
Relationships: Human OC & Hornet
Series: Ethnoentomology [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831015
Comments: 16
Kudos: 49





	1. American Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She couldn't help thinkin' that there  
> Was a little more to life  
> Somewhere else
> 
> After all, it was a great big world  
> With lots of places to run to"

“Your total will be eight dollars and seventy-five cents. Ma’am?”

“Eh? Oh, yeah, right.”

She reached into the pocket of her sleek black leather jacket and pulled out a pastel-pink wallet, adorned with tacky flowers made of tiny fake plastic jewels. Flipping it open with one hand, she smirked down at the face on the driver’s license inside, protected by a thin film of plastic.

Luisanne Parker. What a shame.

Finely-combed golden hair flowing behind her, kept healthy with the priciest conditioner and products on the market. Vibrant yet cool jade eyes from behind a pair of dark-framed and rectangular high-brand name glasses, giving off a strong air of “business.” What a shame.

Skin smooth as silk, pale, yet slightly sun-kissed from the occasional healthy sunbathing on the beach during longer vacations or on her rooftop on weekends. A masterfully hand-crafted navy-blue jacket as part of a pricey three-piece suit, fitting her form perfectly. A strict vegetarian diet to keep her body fit and skinny, so that she would not need to get her expensive suit re-fitted. What a shame.

She had her life together. A personal secretary for a big-shot CEO, or the head of the Human Resources department for a massive insurance company, or working in a large law firm. She would never have to worry about missing a meal, or sleeping in the cold or the dark from failing to pay her bills. Her children, if she ever decided to have any, would live wealthy and successful lives, and so would her children’s children.

She was perfect. She was whole. What a shame.

What a shame, that Valleri Crowes would never be perfect like the woman she swiped this wallet from.

Valleri reached into the wallet and flipped through the bills, looking for a ten. Couple twenties, a few fifties… Even some Franklins. Damn, she struck good with this one. Finally, she pulled out two fives and forked them over to the cashier.

July, 1990. Summer in L.A.

In the summer, the days seem to blend together, as with the weeks, and the months. But there was at least one way to tell the date, and that was the heat.

June heat was uncomfortable. It settled over the city, weighing heavy on the air like a blanket that was far too thick, making everyone’s shirts wet with sweat just by standing outside. It was a firm, yet steady heat. But June heat felt less _hot_ so much as it felt _heavy_. It dragged everyone and everything down with it, making the knees want to buckle as you fell to the floor and melted in the pavement, seeping through the cracks and dripping deep into the Earth.

July heat, on the other hand, was _sharp_ and _active_. It kicked the soul into high-gear, everything just seemed to move faster. Maybe it was the thought of August creeping up and the summer soon coming to a close, but everything had more life with the July heat whipping down from above.

All the action was draining, though. She could use a cool-down.

Which is why she was using the large sum of money in this stolen wallet for buying ice cream.

Double-scoop cookies-and-cream with mango sorbet, drenched in a thick helping of caramel sauce. As much as she would like a cone, the July heat would not allow it, so the concoction was kept in a paper cup to at least keep it contained as it inevitably melted into mush. Valleri supposed she was still a child at heart as she took the large paper bowl from the vendor.

_Delicious._

She took to devouring spoonful after spoonful, relishing in the taste as she went on her way. A good treat to beat the heat as she went about her business. It really was great ice cream. Even if she _had_ essentially stolen it.

Valleri was a person who lived as a leech from others. Almost everything she had owned was stolen. Either she stole it, or paid for it with stolen money. Food, bills, rent, tickets for public transport, the clothes on her back. The only exception she could think of was her black biker’s jacket, which she had, in fact, worked for and paid for herself, legally.

She didn’t own a car or bike. Too big, too easy to track, too hard to get away with. Which was fine. She could get anywhere she wanted just by walking.

The streets were more crowded than usual today. Probably some dumb city event. Plenty of fat bigwigs and pompous women in expensive furs. Valleri wasn’t dumb enough to try stealing from people with that kind of power, but God, would she love to. She’d always hated the rich and powerful, people who saw themselves as superior for the number in their bank, or the brand of clothes they wore, or their fancy job title, or how many friends they had in government. People who acted like their shit didn’t stink.

Whatever. Those people had everything to lose. All she had to lose was her jacket.

In her thoughts, Valleri wasn’t watching where she was walking, and accidentally ran straight into someone in the middle of a crosswalk.

The light-up sign still had the white walking figure.

Valleri tripped and hit the ground, the remains of her ice cream splattered across the pavement. Damn. Well, she could always buy more. She glanced up at the man she bumped into.

His face was obscured by dark sunglasses, and his hair was disheveled and dirty. He donned what once might’ve been a beautiful snow-white three-piece suit, but the pure colors had since faded into a repulsive yellow and brown from years of wear. It was also heavily stained across the chest in orange, brown and white from Valleri’s ice cream.

“S-shit,” she stammered. Just get out. “Sorry, I can, ah…” What the hell were you supposed to do when your food spilled on someone else’s clothes, anyway? She didn’t have anything to dab it up with, and that wouldn’t clean it off, either. Was she supposed to pay him or something?

The man said nothing.

The crosswalk signs turned orange.

_50 seconds._

“Hey.” The man’s voice was like a devil’s. Warm as fresh-baked bread and soothing as a warm bath, yet with the grittiness of a smoker and the edge of a butcher’s knife. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

“A-ahaha,” Valleri laughed nervously. Of all the people she could’ve bumped into, she was lucky it wasn’t someone who’d kill her over it. “S-Sorry, anyway, er… can I pay you back, or…?”

“It’s nothing, really. It’s nothing at all.”

The man smiled, and Valleri had to do a double-take, because her ice cream had vanished from the man’s suit, not a trace left.

“Believe me. It’s nothing. Don’t even worry about it.”

The man reached into his coat, giving Valleri a view of the butt of a handgun.

It was a beautiful gun. A large revolver of stainless steel, clearly cared for and articulately maintained. The July sun glinted off of its polished silver sheen, locking her in place. She was barely even able to draw a breath, completely in awe and terror as the man leveled the gun’s barrel straight at her.

There was no getting out of this.

_30 seconds._

“No, trust me, I swear. It’s nothing. There’s nothing. It’s nothing at all,” The man kept droning, face expressionless. Was he insane?

She shakily raised a hand. “H-H-Hey, t-there’s no need for that, r-” she gulped. “R-right?”

He cocked the gun’s hammer with a petrifying click.

_20 seconds._

Valleri looked around. Nobody was looking. Even the cars just a few feet away, waiting for the crosswalk timer to be up and the light to turn green didn’t react to the scene of her being held at gunpoint by an apathetic individual.

Was he insane? Was _she_ insane?

_15 seconds._

Valleri’s fight or flight response kicked in, and of course her arrogant ass had to pick “fight”.

She shot forth from her crouch on the burning pavement and went to tackle the man’s legs. Her ears rang when the man fired the gun off, but missed. He and Valleri went falling back onto the pavement again, and in his surprise, his grip on the revolver loosened.

Valleri reflexively grasped it, feeling the warm butt of the gun in her palm.

_10 seconds._

She scrambled to her feet. The man tried to follow her.

_5 seconds._

In terror, adrenaline rushing to her head, she raised the gun and fired.

Bam.

The lights turned green as the pavement was painted red, and none of the cars felt like moving.

A child stared in curiosity and fear, before a terrified mother screamed and covered his eyes. A grown man stopped where he was, dropped his suitcase on the sidewalk, and vomited. A man in a car picked up his bulky phone, and judging by his panicked tone, had called the police. Some people were running. One car panicked and floored it, screeching through the intersection to flee, nearly hitting Valleri.

Valleri’s eyes lost focus as they tried to flicker back and forth between the gun in her hands and the body on the ground.

She’d just shot someone. In broad daylight, in the middle of a busy intersection.

As much as she was every bit a master thief, the last thing Valleri had ever expected to steal was a life.

The next thirty minutes were a blur in her mind. She was drunk off of adrenaline, her body and mind refusing to think clearly. She’d ran, pointed the gun in someone’s face, and got inside of a car. She’d driven somewhere, breaking speed limit after speed limit. Somewhere out of the city, somewhere far away, somewhere she’d never have to think again.

Into a forest. Into the dark.

A dirt and gravel path.

Where the treeline bent and warped like an animal’s maw. Where there was no up or down, no left or right, either go back and face your crimes or go forward into the unknown.

Where nothing was real. Where nothing really mattered anymore.

Where all things in this world twisted,

turned,

fell,

until

they hit

a

vanishing point.

...

* * *

...

Reed was starting to hate this stupid job.

When he signed up for the guard, he thought it’d mean working in the _city_ , with other guards, hunting down and catching criminals and outlaws. Instead, here he was, on the edge of nowhere at all.

Why did Hallownest need guards on its border, anyway? It wasn’t like there was anything else outside of these borders. Nothing but mindless roamers and savages.

And this outfit. It was awful. The armor was heavy and clunky and his lance was so poorly designed. The blade was longer than the handle, so much so that there was no comfortable way to carry it. If he tried to rest it on the ground by its hilt, he’d be grabbing at the blade. If he rested it by the blade, he’d _still_ be grabbing it by the blade, unless he reached his arm up uncomfortably high.

He sighed, and sat down on a rock ledge. The Howling Cliffs were so _empty._ The most interesting thing around here was that hick town Dirtmouth, where like, twelve people lived. He couldn’t understand why more than _zero_ people lived there; it was windy, it was cold, it was dark and bleak and dirty. The City of Tears was louder, yes, but it was just objectively better.

This place was quiet. Too quiet.

**_CRAASH!_ **

Okay, maybe not _that_ quiet.

Reed jumped in surprise from the noise of the explosion. What in the Wyrm’s name was _that?!_ He leapt up, wings on his back fluttering wildly as he shot up in the air to investigate.

Not too far away, he could see the orange glow of fire, and a large plume of smoke rising up from it. He shot towards it as fast as he could.

Or he would’ve, if this stupid armor wasn’t so _heavy-!_

Reed froze. Slowly, he settled down to the ground, holding his lance as best as he could.

What… what was this thing?

Whatever it was, it was clearly broken. It was a large box of warped metal, with fire and smoke rising haphazardly from the front, where it had apparently collided with an old tree. Reed was no detective, but he guessed that it was some kind of machine for transportation, judging by the four metal wheels around the machine, as well as the very clear path of destruction it had waged across the wasteland behind it.

The machine had large holes in it, windows, he could guess from the remains of broken glass around the edges. Peering inside, he could see what looked like seats, covered in some unknown material. Looked pretty comfy, aside from the shards of broken glass dusting them.

What was this thing? How’d it get here? Maybe he could-

_click_

Oh. He’d opened it.

Apparently, that small silver thing on the side of the vehicle was a handle. Pulling it open, careful not to cut himself on the glass shards or torn metal, he peered into the darkness within the box, illuminated only by the warm glow of the fire.

The inside of the vehicle looked complicated. Something resembling a wheel, but other than that, he couldn’t even begin to guess what the other parts of the vehicle were meant to do.

One thing was painfully clear to him, though.

The vehicle was empty.

Whatever or whoever had crashed it into this tree was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story name is a reference to Midnight Rider by Gregg Allman.  
> Chapter title and beginning notes are a reference to American Girl by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.  
> Other musical references in this chapter include:  
> Valleri by the Monkees  
> The Black Crowes(artist)  
> Lou Reed(artist)
> 
> Two days, two new chapters! How about that, after over a month of silence?
> 
> Some words from my co-author, Piston24:  
> "Heya! Welcome to Ethnoentomology's first (and probably only) side story! There isn't exactly much else to say on the matter, except that this story will be updated much less frequently than main one: maybe a new chapter for this one every once in a while, depending on circumstances and how far we are in writing the main story. Because after all, this story shares more with Ethnoentomology than just the name. Thanks for reading!"
> 
> As you can tell, this is a prequel to the main Ethnoentomology story, set while Hallownest is still standing before the Infection. It does have important ties to the main story, though we won't be revealing exactly what they are just yet!
> 
> This is a much shorter chapter than usual, but that's okay. There'll be much more to come! As Piston said, however, the main story will be our main focus, and we won't be updating this quite as much. Also, our ideas and plans for this story aren't quite concrete yet, so some things might move around or change as this goes on.
> 
> We're curious to see what speculation you might come up with for this story, and how it links back to the main story! Please leave a comment, and thanks for reading!


	2. Wanted Dead Or Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And times when you're alone, all you do is think"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: A character previously introduced as "Lou" has had their name changed to "Reed", since I think that sounds more bug-like.

Wearing sunglasses indoors wasn’t just stupid, it _sucked_ . And she had to do it _all the time_ because _everywhere_ was indoors when you were in a _giant cave_ and also because the fucking _cops_ were already after her when all she did was steal a _stupid rag._

Living a life supported by theft could prove disheartening, so Valleri liked to keep herself amused by pretending her life was some kind of crime drama. She wasn’t some cheap pickpocket, she was a _master thief_ , the most wanted woman in California. She lounged upon her golden throne _(a cheap spinny office chair she bought on a whim when she realized she had almost no furniture)_ , draped in the finest night-black furs and satin _(a 49er’s hoodie she’d had since she was 17)_ , piles of treasure and precious gemstones at her feet _(a couple wallets, some magazines, a fistful of jewlery, and a safe with cash. The safe itself was the most expensive thing she owned)_ , lurking from deep within her evil lair of villainy _(a depressing flat out in industrial Los Angeles she paid 1.4 grand in rent every month for-_ one point four grand _, can you believe that bullshit?!)_

It was a grand, lavish life. ( _It was not_.)

And then she went and shot someone.

... _Apparently._

Look, it wasn’t her fucking fault, alright?! Yeah, okay, sure, when some stranger spills their food on your suit, you have a right to be angry, and honestly, she would have deserved it. But who the fuck _draws a gun_ over something like that, a _cowboy?!_ And in the middle of the street in _broad daylight!_ She was just happy to not be dead, but everyone stared at her like _she_ drew the gun on _him!_ Was everyone out of their minds?!

...Was _she_ out of her mind?

Stupid question, practically answered itself. Of course she was crazy. Because after having just _murdered_ someone, she _hijacked a car_ , sped out into the middle of _bumfuck nowhere_ , and must’ve hit a pothole so bad it jolted her back in time and into another dimension.

And now? _Bug people!_ Because _every_ classic crime drama has ‘em.

Honestly, if she could have stayed in that dusty old village up top, she would’ve. Less attention from whatever government was floating around here. But she had already made waves from stealing this stupid cloak; everyone was pointing fingers at one another, and she’d ruined whatever fragile semblance of peace there was to enjoy there. She couldn’t survive off of that.

...Going down into a city was risky.

Going down into a city knowing damn well you’re going to do nothing but lurk in alleyways and rob people was _very_ risky. Doing all that when you couldn’t even safely show your damn face in public was just ridiculous.

But cities had people. And where there were people, there were resources. Resources she’d need to survive in… whatever fresh hell she wound up in.

At the very least, she’d kept the gun. Also, _holy shit, why’d she keep the fucking gun?!_

Valleri wasn’t experienced in guns, but it looked awfully fancy. Some close observation showed it was called a Colt Python - a name even _she_ recognized - about a six-inch barrel, maybe? Polished steel that gleamed in the light, a neat rubber grip, and on the backside of the bullets, read “357 Magnum.”

That was… good, right? She was pretty sure that was good.

Okay, against humans, maybe, but what about bugs? Giant bug-people. Shells were probably harder than skin, right? Americans could be batshit-crazy with this stuff sometimes, but she’s pretty sure nobody’s ever made _bug-shell piercing rounds._ N-Not that she even _wanted_ to use this stupid thing, it’s what got her in this mess in the first place. But like, if things got _really_ bad, maybe-

Okay, _no._ The gun wasn’t important right now. What was important was, y’know, _not fucking dying._

* * *

Bug-people, people-people, fancy purses, weathered satchels, it was all the same to her. She needed stuff to live. She didn’t have stuff. Other people did. It’s pretty straightforward from there.

Everything was a lot easier once she started thinking of it as just a change in theme. Instead of dollar bills, it was Geo, and instead of the L.A. outskirts, it’s this “City of Tears.”

...Oh, God, she couldn’t even _think_ it with a straight face. Oh, it’s always raining, let’s call it the fucking _City of Tears_. Not even as a subtitle, that’s what they actually put down on legal documents.

 _Edgy._ Edgy edge edge edgy edge edgy edge.

Whatever, she’d make a living in knockoff Seattle well enough.

She supposed she couldn’t complain _too_ much. A small, abandoned room had become her new shelter; it may have been cold and dank and smelled of mold, but it beat sleeping in an alleyway or a ditch. And all she had to do was break a flimsy, locked door within an alleyway. Much easier than leasing her previous apartment. Why didn’t she try this before?

Well, _hopefully_ it was abandoned. The last thing she needed was for someone to barge into her hideout. Then, she’d have to figure out where to find more bullets.

At least water wasn’t a concern. She had no idea how it was raining _constantly,_ but if it was clean, she’d be fine.

Regardless, she was sticking strictly to the essentials. Food, maybe some clothing, and a fistful of this Geo stuff was all she needed right now. The bare minimum she needed to stay alive and unseen. This city was the only one of its kind, if the idle gossip she had overheard was to be trusted. If she became greedy and bit off a bit more than she could chew, there was nowhere else to run.

Okay, there were _other_ places, but she wanted nothing to do with any of them. A Spartan village of warrior mantises - “ _manti”? Oh, fucking whatever -_ a literal hive-city of bees, and oh dear God above help her, a hellhole of giant fucking _spiders_ . Nope. Nope nope no nah nay nuh-uh. You couldn’t _pay_ her to set foot in a place like that. She was _not_ a spider person.

Unsurprisingly, she heard no mention of hick Dirtmouth. Being up on the “surface” was that town’s only redeeming feature. Honestly, she wasn’t even certain how she wound up _here_ from _there_ ; she’d hitched a ride on one of those giant Stag things, and the huge bug never asked any questions. Cool guy.

Of course, the same city was also the home for the gentry and rich of this society. Snooty egg… bug... things. They were obsessed with their money and perceived power in this kingdom, and made no efforts to hide it. It was almost a single-minded obsession, a sole character trait. Even parallel universes can’t escape from those assholes.

Look, point is, she lost no sleep over pickpocketing those arrogant bastards. Instead, she was losing sleep over LITERALLY EVERYTHING ELSE.

These fucking _cops_ , man. Forget getting handcuffed and tased, she was worried about getting _stabbed_ . ...Who would win in a fight, an average LAPD cop or an average City of Tears guard? On one hand, the cop’s got the tech advantage; guns, taser, body armor, all the works. But on the _other_ hand: _giant spear._

All Valleri knew was _she_ wouldn’t win a fight against _either_ of them, and she’d much rather just keep her head down.

* * *

“Who would win in a fight, Hegemol or Dryya?”

“Dryya, no question. She’s faster, lighter, more lethal than a giant bug on a stick.”

 _“Seriously?_ But Hegemol’s so much bigger!”

“Yeah, but that’s _his_ problem, isn’t it?”

Banter like this was only allowed in the city guard’s ranks because it was the only thing keeping soldiers from just falling asleep on the ground out of boredom.

Two guards, leaned up against a denim-blue brick wall, weapons resting in a corner, casually watching over a relatively quiet street. Only a handful of bugs shuffled about through the rain, almost all of them only using this road as a shortcut to somewhere else on the busier side of life.

Rain poured from the sky, over the rooftops and down onto their armor with endless soft _plinks_ , dripping through the grooves until they slipped off the bottom into a drain.

Nobody would break the law in a place like this. Empty enough for everything to be in plain sight, but with just enough people to _see_ everything in plain sight. The place practically governed itself.

But if the Crown ordered guards at the ready on every street, there would be guards at the ready on _every_ street. And most of them had nothing to do.

Nothing to do but banter, and get soaked in the rain.

“Okay, but is Dryya’s sword made of the same stuff as Hegemol’s armor? One of em’s gotta be stronger than the other, right?”

“Doesn’t matter what they’re made of, Dryya could cut through any armor with a _training nail_ like a hot knife through butter.”

“No, she couldn’t! She’s not _that_ strong!”

“She _absolutely_ is!”

“But she-”

“Uhm, excuse me?”

And the rain came to a halt.

“A-Ah! Lady Isma!” shouted a guard, caught by surprise as he scrambled to stand at attention. His hands fumbled with his nail, slipping through and falling to the ground with a crash. Both guards bent down to pick up their weapons to stand at formation as quickly as possible, only managing to bump their heads together as they stood up again.

Isma giggled at the accidental display. “I’m sorry, did I surprise you?” She stepped forward from the shadows of an alleyway, standing just past the awning the guards were under. She patted down her leaf-green dress - made of actual leaves - to shake loose dry specs of dirt and dust, likely from the Waterways she seemed to favor so much. Her firm footsteps on the pavement echoed on the silent street corner, not a sound to be heard except for the flow of water down the drain, seemingly louder than usual, until even that came to a dripping silence.

“N-Not at all, my Lady!” lied the guard. “The street is secure, no signs of dissidence to be seen!”

“No signs of this-is-dense!”

A heavy _clang!_ echoed through the street as the second guard was smacked by the first.

“The only _dense_ thing I see here is _you!_ ”

“Says the one who think Dryya’s strong enough to fell Hegemol with a training nail-!”

Isma raised a hand disarmingly, trying to stifle her laughter. “S-Sires, please. There’s no use fighting over the strength of my peers…”

Both knights stiffened at her voice, dropping to their knees before her. Their armored kneecaps clanked against the stone pavement. “Forgive us, Lady Isma, for our unprofessional conduct!”

“Forgive us!”

Isma frowned. Dryya must’ve had them scared straight, the authoritarian she was. Herself, she preferred it when the guards had more personality, instead of transforming mind, body and soul into the living statue the Crown(and Dryya) would want them to be.

_That personality was what had drawn her to Ogrim, after all._

“Please, don’t think twice about it,” Isma forced out. Was talking with other guards always this tiring? Good for a short laugh, and after that, they got too tense from her mere presence to just act like normal people. She felt bad teasing them for too long. Maybe it wasn’t just Dryya’s fault, maybe it was hers.

Oh, but she’d almost forgotten the point! “Anyway. There’s been a surge in theft reports around this area. Have either of you two seen anything?”

“Eh? They’re having the Great Knights do _our_ chores now?” questioned the second guard, only to get kicked in the shin by the first.

Isma tutted, playfully shaking her head, “It is our responsibility to help the common folk as well, grand status or not. Besides,” she added, “There is little else for us to do at the moment.” She allowed herself a small chuckle.

“Shouldn’t there be plenty to be doing right now? I mean, nobody’s caught the guy from the case at the bar yet, did they-”

The first guard awkwardly laughed, patting the second guard roughly on the back, causing them to stutter and shut up. “W- _Well_ ,” the first guard said, “If you are indeed investigating, we would recommend checking the Market District. Most pickpocket victims don’t notice they’d been robbed until they’re back at their homes, but a majority of reports claimed they went through the Market earlier in the day.”

Isma frowned. “They didn’t even notice until that much later?” She had never been pickpocketed in her life before - nobody was bold enough to even get close to her - but she figured _someone_ would have noticed their belongings going missing sooner. Was this really just some common thief? Or was there something more significant to it?

“...I’ll look into it. Thank you for your time,” Isma bowed curtly, and with a turn of her heel, went on her way down the street.

…

...drip.

Drip drip.

Drip drip dip.

Dripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripfs _hhhhhhhhhhh-_

_“OHMYWYRMTHATWASHER!”_

_“HOLYGODSABOVEISHOULDHAVEASKEDFORASIGNATURTE-!”_

* * *

It was unreal. She was surrounded by faces and completely invisible.

Everyone was everywhere was going everywhere else. An endless web of a crowd, folding in on itself, shuffling, hustling, sifting through the cracks between the walls of cloaks and masks. Everyone blocked everyone else’s view. Everyone was equally blind. Nobody thought, nobody felt, they were only there to go somewhere else.

Nobody except her.

God, she was the center of the universe here.

Oops, her hand slipped. There goes that noble’s fifty Geo. Oh, my bad, you weren’t watching where you were going and let me take a fistful of shiny rocks out of your satchel. Back in LA, she always had to look out for people with tight pockets who she couldn’t graze against without being suspect. Here, everyone’s cloaks and satchels and bags were loose enough where everyone looked identical under their fancy bedsheets.

All she had to do was throw on a giant rag of her own, wear something to hide her face(their pale masks were weirdly impossible to find, despite literally _everyone_ having one, so for now she settled for more cloth on her face with some sunglasses), and she was one of them. Oh, yes sire, she was but another common-bug on their way to thine worksite, nay, thou were but a small mortal amongst these good noble-bugs, they and their oh-so-hefty pockets.

_Reclusive-Aggressive._

But money wasn’t everything, of course. It was nothing more than a tool to her, something to use to get something else she actually needed. She didn’t need luxuries in a storage room in a back alley, and it wasn’t like she had many back home before anyways. She got her money, she used her money to survive another day, oh look, she ran out of money, time to go get more.

It was the kind of mindset that’d slowly kill someone working a deadend job at a gas station every day, but luckily for her, the thrill of taking her paycheck right out of the pockets of her higher-ups was payment enough.

Well… metaphorically. Adrenaline didn’t fill an empty stomach.

Speaking of food, Hallownestian diets were ridiculous. It seemed like every stall was serving some new, random Mystery Meat Of The Day. Carcasses that definitely were not shaped like any animal she’d ever seen, and not a single one of them anyone had bothered to cook. She had to learn how to start a fire and grill meat herself using outdated bug technology through nothing but trial and error. She was always a meat-eater herself, but she’d kill for a salad right now.

She walked past another stand, discreetly swiping another flintstone and a bundle of kindling from a stall whose owner was busy haggling with a paying customer. It was almost too easy. She slipped the items under her cloak without missing a beat.

_Okay… what next?_

She mentally went over her list of what she needed. She only had to do this dance every few days, or… at least, what had become of “days” for her. Her sleep schedule had devolved into “sleep whenever you want, and wake whenever you want”. It was an… odd change, but one that made the days merge together into an amorphous blob. A reminder she was fighting for her very survival above all else. Time had abandoned her.

God, that was depressing. Okay, back to work.

More kindling and a new flintstone for her striker and fire, check. Food, she had already grabbed. She couldn’t stockpile it because of the bugs’ lack of refrigeration, but it was plentiful enough to steal. The bedding in her small hideout was still good enough. Water, of course she was fine. Her cloak…?

Maybe it was time to replace it. Not to imply that she would get rid of it, of course. It would be retired to a place of honor in her hideout for its service. Regardless of its use to her, it had become quite fringy and torn. It hadn’t been in the best condition when she swiped it, and her constant use hadn’t done it any favors. It would be trickier to grab a new one, but how hard could it really be? She’d stolen harder items, even before coming to this city.

Valleri could have just paid for it, but...

It took her about fifteen minutes to find her mark; a dingy stand with sturdy, bland cloaks for sale. The stallkeeper, a bored looking pillbug, was busy chatting away with another customer, another one of those pompous nobles. His focus wasn’t really on the conversation, but then again, it wasn’t really on much of anything, so she wasn’t worried about him catching her.

Slip by, grab a handful, slip away. Candy from a baby. She stepped forward, her hand hovering over one of the cloaks-

“Pray tell, have they make any progress on that murder case?”

Valleri froze. _A murder?_ She hadn’t heard anything about this before. Besides, a little city gossip might keep her sane.

The stallkeep sighed. “Should you _really_ be talking about that so openly…?” Was it a taboo thing to discuss? Back home, even the most gruesome crimes would be talked about endlessly if there was enough press on it. It was kinda fucked up, but hey, people talk. Can’t really help it.

The noblebug leaned forward, her eyes darting side to side, searching for any eavesdroppers. Of course she wouldn’t find anyone, not even Valleri standing right next to her; not when half of the crowd looked identical. “How am I supposed to stay on top of it if nobody ever _talks_ about it? You can feel the tension in the air everywhere you go, why worry about some blasted infection when there’s an alien murderer on the loose?”

Valleri’s hand slowly fell. This could be important, moreso than a new wardrobe.

“Baroness Emilitia, you _know_ we could get the wrong kind of attention for merely speaking of this.”

“ _What_ kind of attention?” Emilitia said. “From who? From where? What’ll they do? Nobody knows! Nobody knows who did it, so they’re afraid of _everyone_ now. How can people _live_ like this?!”

“ _Quiet down,_ ” hushed the merchant. He only sighed again, his face falling even further than it already had. “Your family ascended into nobility, and yet you still have the fire of a journalist in you.”

“So do you have anything?”

“Why _would_ I? I’m a cloak seller, that’s it.”

“You _must_ hear gossip from your customers and other merchants, no?”

“Well…” He sighed yet again. Valleri almost felt bad for him; poor guy couldn’t catch a break. “I mean, I heard a rumor about what the person _looked_ like, at least.”

“Oh? I haven’t heard this before. Do tell?” Emilitia pushed. Valleri wanted to know, too; a rampaging murderer on the loose wouldn’t do her chances of survival any favors. She didn’t need a repeat of the “ice cream incident” from back in L.A.

“I heard this second-hand, alright? I can’t confirm or deny this, it’s nothing more than a rumor.” The stallkeep’s voice fell to a whisper, and Valleri had to strain her ears to hear him.

“Just after having done the deed, they say their hood fell, showing an alien shaped, pale-pink face, with these strange, long, dark strands coming out of their head, and a sharp-looking nose. Nobody knows what they are, but they were surely no bug.”

…

 _“Intriguing!”_ Emilitia breathed. Is there anything else you have for me?”

“I’m afraid that’s all I-”

_Wooosh._

“Hm? That one left in quite a hurry, didn’t they?”

“Eh, probably just running late.”

* * *

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck fuck shit fucking shit fucking fuck. Shit. _Fuck._ Fucking fuck fuck fuck shit fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Shit. _Fuck._

_Fuck._

Valleri fled to a dark alley, unsure and uncaring of where she was or how she got here, and collapsed against a wall. Her breaths were shaky, her hands kept clenching and unclenching involuntarily. She had figured, in the back of her mind, that it was only a matter of time before people began to suspect her. She couldn’t keep doing this forever.

But now things had changed too suddenly, and the already tattered and unstable rug had been pulled out from under her. Nobody was looking for a thief in the City of Tears.

They were looking for a murderer, and somehow, the blame had been pinned on her.

Or… was there another human here? She almost calmed down at the thought, until she realized that would make the only other human in this entire kingdom a deranged killer.

The threat of her life being on the line was all-too real now. If the city guards wouldn’t kill her for getting caught, then maybe this mystery person would.

But… if they were looking for a human, they wouldn’t give a damn about her being a thief. All they’d care about is her supposedly being a murderer. She wouldn’t get a trial or a due process or anything. If they saw a killer on the streets, they’d kill them on sight, whether she actually did it or not.

“Um, excuse me?”

_OHGODIDIDN’TDOITISWEAR-_

Valleri whirled around to find the voice. A small bug, seemingly a child, had followed and approached her in the alley. The horns around his head were still small and stubby, but their shape resembled what she had seen on some of the city guards’ helmets, and he also wore a pendant similar to the guards as well. A family member of one, maybe? His hands were folded against his chest, nervous.

“Are you feeling well, miss? I saw you running off and was worried.” His voice was soft and timid; it impressed Valleri that he had the guts to talk to a stranger like her at all.

Valleri gave herself a second to get her bearings right, before standing tall and dusting herself off, scoffing at the child with the scorn of a noble. “What does it matter to _you?”_

The young bug recoiled at her venom, and she felt a twinge of guilt. Alright, she’d admit, that was mean. He didn’t deserve her bullshit, he was just an innocent child trying to help, and she was being a bit of a bitch. Still, if she was a murder suspect now, the sooner she got out of his attention, the better.

“I, uhm…” The bug-boy stuttered a bit, starting to recover. “I just… w-wanted to help, miss. M-My brother is in the guard, and I- I wanna be a guard too, someday, and uhm… he said I can be a guard if I help people...

...A-Adorable, yeah, but if his brother really was in the guard, that was bad news, right? Thankfully, Valleri wouldn’t be the master thief she was if she didn’t know how to turn a bad situation in her favor.

“Well… if you’re brother’s in the guard, he’s probably worried about you, right?”

“N-Not really. He always gets deployed up in Dirtmouth, so he’s not home often.”

_Oh. Okay, well she could always…_

“What about your parents? Do they know you’re here?”

“M-My dad died in Blackwyrm, and my mom died to the Infection when I was little.”

_...R-Right. More shit she didn’t know. Fuck, uhh…_

“D-Do you have any other family who might be worried about you?”

“...No. It’s just been me and my brother.”

“Do you live with anyone, any caretakers, or…?”

“Nuh-uh. All by myself. ...Unless Reed comes to visit. He’s my brother.”

“W-Well, where do you live? I can walk you home if you’d like.”

The small bug clenched his hands and nodded. “I-I’d like that.”

Holy shit finally. Stupid sad backstories, doing nothing but making her life harder. It really shouldn’t be this difficult to get a nosy kid out of her hair, and now she had to walk him home herself to boot. Talk about too much information. (Though, she supposed she _did_ ask…)

She’d still have to stop by that cloak stand to actually buy one now, though.

“Here, take my hand,” Valleri said, holding hers out to the young boy, who tentatively reached up and grasped her hand. His hand felt so _weird_ , firm and jagged, skinny as bone, but still a bit malleable. He himself was chill to the touch, feeling like a plastic water bottle she’d just pulled out of a fridge. 

“Y…” the child trailed off for a second, as though unsure of what he was saying. “Y-You have… very warm hands, miss.” He gave a gentle squeeze. “A-And they’re soft, too… Are you… going through a molt soon, miss?”

“A molt?” Valleri said as they started off. Shit. Was this a normal bug thing she was supposed to know about? She never took an insect biology class in high school. Fuck fuck _fuuuck-_

“Y-Yeah!” Luckily, the small bug didn’t seem to notice her confusion in his excitement. “I-It’s that thing when you get really big, so you, you gotta go through a sh, a shed, and you come out bigger and stronger! M-My brother says my wings are gonna grow in on my next molt!”

Oh. So, it was like a puberty thing. Instead of growing gradually, bugs grew in phases. That made enough sense to her. “Y-Yeah, I’m uh… I’m gonna be… molting… soon. Ish.” She could stick with this narrative well enough, she thought as she led the child through the rainy streets to where he said his home was. Walk this kid home, get him out of her hair, find another one of those Stag Station things and get the hell out of here.

She’d… figure out what to do next from there. She couldn’t plan everything.

“Uhm… What’s your name, anyway, kid?”

“...L-Lenny. My name is Lenny.” the small bug child said, his hand still clenched around hers as they weaved through pedestrians on the streets. Lenny’s shorter legs struggled to keep up with hers, and she had to remind herself to stop rushing for his sake. “What’s yours?”

...Giving her name was… safe, right? I mean, he was just a kid. He wouldn’t even _know_ to snitch on her if she just didn’t do anything stupid in front of him.

“...Valleri. My name is Valleri.”

“Valleri?” Lenny rolled the alien name around in his mouth, letting it ebb and flow across his tongue. “...That’s a very pretty name, Miss Valleri.”

“It’s _my_ name, kid, don’t wear it out.” Valleri grinned.

* * *

Isma should have brought a cloak.

Look, she _never_ does these kinds of missions, alright? These kinds of reconnaissance, stealthy, intel-gathering-type missions, she meant. She was a _Great Knight_ , directly under the Crown itself! She wasn’t built o-or trained for this kind of thing, Wyrm dammit! She… she always liked the more _action_ -y missions. Where she actually _did_ things, because she was _good_ at doing _doing-type_ things, y’know?

...Okay, that made no sense, but it made sense anyway, right?

She _really_ should’ve thought this through before stepping out into the City square, because everyone _except_ her had a cloak on and her white and green armor stood out like a sore thumb. It was _embarrassing!_ Everyone was staring at her, stepping away with hushed whispers of awe. Maybe she can find one of those cloak stalls and throw one on real quick. Wouldn’t matter if someone saw her then, she’d blend into the crowd in almost an instant and nobody would find her.

She always heard complaints about people’s cloaks getting soaked in the City’s eternal rainfall, but she couldn’t recall ever having had that problem.

One such stall fell on her sights. She had some pocket Geo on hand, so it shouldn’t be a problem as long as the stallkeep didn’t try to force her to take it for free out of “gratitude for her service”. She hated when people did that. She wasn’t _always_ a Knight; they knew that, didn’t they…?

Isma stepped forward, reaching out to a cloak on the counter-

“Yeah yeah, that’s great kid, here, lemme just-”

Only for it to land atop another hand.

“Eh? Can I help ya, greenie?”

Isma blinked. _G-Greenie-?!_ The woman before her was wearing a tattered, run-down cloak, in the same dreary blue as seemingly everyone else in the City. Yet, instead of a mask, she had the hood of her robe wrapped around her entire head, with strange, dark glasses over where her eyes should be. Holding her gloved hand was a young child; judging by the pendant on his cloak, was a relative of someone in the City Guard. What was a duo like _this_ doing here…?

The tired-looking stallkeep perked up, eyes wide in shock. “L-L-L-Lady Isma! W-What can I do for you today, my Lady?!” 

“Uh…” Isma was caught off-guard by all of this. She knew what she wanted, but took a second to regain her focus. “I’ll… I’ll just take-”

“You want a cloak?” said the woman in blue. Isma turned and blinked again, her already wavering focus broken.

“I-I, ah-”

“Hey, mister cloak guy, we’ll take two of these on me. Kinda in a rush right now.” The woman in blue reached into her cloak’s pocket and pulled out a fat fistful of Geo, dumping it on the stallkeep’s counter. “Keep the change.”

Isma eyed the Geo warily. _What was_ with _this woman?_ She had a raggedy old cloak that was moments from falling apart, yet she had enough Geo on hand to throw away on both herself and a random stranger. And this was all because she couldn’t wait for Isma to buy it herself? _Not to mention, she apparently didn’t recognize a Great Knight…_

… _! Could it be…?_

“Good? Alright, cool, you can take yours, I’ll take mine and go-”

“E-Excuse me!” Isma finally spoke up, reaching out and grabbing the woman by her wrist. She jolted, and immediately tried to pull away, but Isma’s grip held firm. Isma noticed how soft her wrist was, while still having firmer bits within, and was… was she _warm?_

 _“Whaddya want now?!”_ the woman exclaimed.

“Well… I don’t mean to pry-” _oh she absolutely meant to-_ “-but may I ask why you’re currently with a City Guard’s kin?”

The child perked up at this. “M-My name is Lenny, Lady Isma! M-My brother is in the Guard, his name is Reed!”

“Reed…” She’s heard that name before somewhere, hasn’t she? It was stuck on the tip of her tongue… she could worry about that later.

“I, uhh…” Now it was the woman’s turn to act nervous, and she hadn’t even noticed what was just over her shoulder yet. “I found him. Well, more like _he_ found _me_ , but he was wandering around, so I figured I’d walk ‘im home, y’know?”

Isma’s eyes narrowed. “I see…” She lowered her hand from Valleri’s wrist and softened her gaze as she looked down at Lenny. She didn’t know what his true involvement in all this was yet, but just in case, she had to be gentle. “Lenny, do you know if your brother is stationed in the City of Tears at the moment? It may be more responsible to-”

The woman snickered. Isma couldn’t help but glare for a moment before returning.

“...it’s be _responsible_ , to take you to him in the barracks instead of taking you straight home. I’m sure he’d want to know where you are.”

“Uhm… I don’t think he’s in the City right now. He’s usually up in Dirtmouth.”

Isma nearly gagged. _“D-Dirtmouth…?”_ All the way up there?! This wasn’t what she had planned. O-Okay, she could still work with this, though. “W-Well, perhaps we should still bring you to the nearest barracks. I’m sure there, we’ll at least be able to contact him and let him know you’re alright.”

Lenny perked up with a big grin. “T-That’s super smart of you, Lady Isma!” She grinned; _if only he knew the half of it._

“A-Alright. Alright? Cool, that’s cool,” said the woman in blue. “You can take him there, is that alright? I’m uh, I’m in a bit of a rush, right now, so-”

“ _Actually_ ,” Isma cut her off sharply. “Since you were the one who found him, I was _hoping_ you’d come with us to the guard barracks as well.”

The woman in blue froze up. Isma spoke again.

“You seem to understand the situation better than I do. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if we _questioned_ you a little bit.”

Valleri took a quick step away from Isma, and the raindrops fell against her navy-blue cloak. They did not splash, they did not soak into the fabric. They pushed forward, flattened, a thin edge of water, and the seams of the robe shredded in their path. Thin ribbons of worn cloth dropped to the ground around her in a heap, and every mask in the square was staring straight at her.

All was silent until the stallkeep screamed.

 _“Y-YOU, IT- I-IT’S HERE! BY THE WYRM, IT’S HERE!”_ His finger shot up and pointed at Valleri, whose exposed face, covered only by her opaque glasses, contorted in terror. Every hair on her skin stood on end, her heart pounding in her ears. Hooded figures stepped away, whispering to each other, whispers of her victim’s bloodied bodies and the smell of smoke.

Isma was frozen on the spot, eyes wide, uncomprehending.

She came here to find a cutpurse and instead found a murderer.

Isma could barely stagger forward a single step, and Valleri’s stupid fucking fight-or-flight system kicked in again.

She dashed up to Isma and kicked her straight in the abdomen, knocking her to the pavement with a pained grunt. Onlookers gasped in horror as Valleri snatched her new cloak from the ground and sprinted off into the crowd, fumbling with her robe in an attempt to blend in. Screams erupted all over the square, people running every direction, everyone trying to escape the serial killer hidden within them.

Isma was nothing if not durable, though; one measly kick meant nothing to her. It just… caught her off-guard. She felt strangely numb. The screams around her were nothing but white noise, and she was only vaguely aware of the raindrops starting to fall against her again. She struggled to find her balance, her focus. But she slowly staggered to her feet, and at some point, she stopped thinking. She let instinct take control, let her legs move on their own, let her eyes and ears follow her target instead of her mind.

And as Valleri vanished into the crowd and Isma vanished into the dense rainfall, Lenny was still frozen to the ground, feeling like the earth had risen up from beneath him to swallow him whole. He fought to hold back tears, confusion clouding his mind.

_”W-Why… Why did you lie to me, Miss?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Wanted Dead Or Alive by Bon Jovi.  
> Other musical references in this chapter include:  
> Lenny by Stevie Ray Vaughan
> 
> Woohoo, back with more prequel stuff, and now it's actually getting interesting! To be honest, I find that I have much more fun writing Valleri than I do Chance, but despite that, it still took a full month to get this chapter out. No, seriously, exactly a full month. We started Ethnoentomology on the fourth of January, we last updated the main story on the fourth of October, and we're putting this up on the fourth of November. Kinda weird. I'm torn between accepting that chapters will have to come out when they come out, and trying to make them go faster so this story doesn't take me actual years to write.
> 
> Either way, both Piston and I had a lot of fun with this chapter, and there's a lot of foreshadowing in it as well! Next chapter we'll be going back to Chance's side of the story, so please leave a review and we'll see you then!
> 
> [EDIT 11/5/2020] oh my god i'm so stupid i was using San Fran instead of Los Angeles, think i fixed it now though


	3. Riders on the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There's a killer on the road."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made a Discord server! Invite code is in the end notes of this chapter :)

It wasn’t his problem.

He never cared too much about what happened outside. The only things he ever had to worry about were all in one place; between the wall on his left, and the wall on his right. When something left through that door, it left his mind, and he didn’t think about it again until they came  _ back _ through that door.

Not that he was unsympathetic; he had a heart, too. It just… wasn’t healthy for him, to think too much about what was outside when it didn’t affect his life at all. Thinking got him anxious, he couldn’t focus, couldn’t work effectively and he just couldn’t sit  _ still. _ He was always  _ tired _ of it; tired in the way that sleep couldn’t fix.

Even if  _ he _ didn’t care, everyone else always did. They cared too much, so they came here to stop caring. He just had that kind of effect on people. Not that the drinks didn’t help, of course.

Until they slowly lost their minds to the warm buzzing, like a fuzzy bee drifting carelessly in their gut, he just had to put up with all the baggage they dragged in.

That’s good to hear.

Sorry you missed your tram.

Mhmm.

Care for a drink?

Good evening.

Work stressing you out?

My heart goes out to the victims of  _ bleugh. _

He just wanted everyone to be quiet. He just wanted to not feel so fake. He just wanted to close the yawning void in his chest. He just wanted to do what he wanted. He just wanted to want things again. He just wanted to feel  _ alive. _

But he was too tired. It wasn’t his problem.

...Was his immediate thought, when he heard muffled screaming outside.

At first, he’d only given the door a brief sideways glance, thinking he was just starting to hear things. Then he heard the fear pick up,  _ crescendo, _ panicked screams, pounding of feet as crowds ran for their lives. The walls were his security, the door keeping him isolated from the muted terror rushing past him.

He tensed up. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t -- didn’t  _ let himself _ breathe. The pressure built inside of him. It wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t his--

The door slammed open, and the glass shattered in his iron grip.

Whatever words the pedestrian was about to say died in their throat, as they watched the blood trickle down his arm. “O-Oh… A-Are you alright there, Sir?”

I’ll be fine.

“W-Well…” They gulped, “I just thought you would like to know--”

They didn’t need to say a single thing. The screams outside, no longer muffled as he cowered from beyond his door, were loud and clear.

_ The killer is here. _

_ The creature, the thing. _

_ The murderer is revealed. _

Someone grabbed onto the pedestrian, begging them to come with them to hide somewhere, anywhere where they won’t be found. They tried to hold the door open, for even a second longer, but they were pulled away by their family and loved ones, to somewhere where they could be safe, be together.

The doors swung shut, leaving him alone in the dark again.

For the first time in a long, uncomfortable while, the gears in his head began to spin, and he felt the whole world spinning too,

dizzying.

* * *

Valleri cursed viciously under her breath.

She was pushing through the panicked masses, instinctually flowing around them like oil. Her mind was gripped by panic; she was running on autopilot. Her sternum hurt, her body numb.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit  _ shit-- _

She just  _ had  _ to be generous for once in her damn life, and where did it get her? Being chased by a damned Narc! Why did she  _ kick _ her? Stupid, stupid!

In her frantic escape, she had swung her cloak over her shoulder, and pulled the hood up. She didn’t have her cloth mask, but  _ she just needed to get away get away run run run move run-- _

Eventually, she fell into an empty alleyway.

Quiet.

Desolate.

Nothing but the pitter-patter of rainfall.

Valleri sagged against one of the wet walls, breathing heavily. One of her hands, shaking involuntarily, went to her side, massaging a searing stitch there.

_ She couldn’t breathe. She could barely think. _

Valleri let out another string of curses. They saw her face. They saw her  _ face! _

She could maybe, just  _ maybe _ lay low until this all blew over, but the look Greenie had given her was a familiar one, one transcendent of species. No doubt her face was burned into Greenie’s memory, and after that kick, she wouldn’t give up her pursuit.

She needed to stay calm. Get away, remain inconspicuous, stick to the shadows. Get to her hideout, grab her belongings,  _ then get the fuck out of dodge. _

Hell, skip the hideout. She didn’t have anything important there. She could find more somewhere else, away from the city. She had to get out. She had to run. Find a train or stag and get away. She had to. She had--

_ FFSSSHHHhhhhhhh------drip---drip---drip _

Valleri had only just registered the absence of the rain’s pattering on her cloak, when something exploded behind her.

_ CLANG! _

In an eruptive geyser, a manhole cover at the mouth of the alleyway behind her launched skyward, eliciting a started yelp out of her. She threw a hand over her mouth, forcing herself not to scream as it came crashing down into the cobblestone ground with a heartstopping clang. A torrent of water flowed around it, flooding the seams between the stones and rushing in every direction like a spiderweb.

Valleri didn’t move.

Valleri didn’t breathe.

Valleri didn’t even let her eyes flinch away from the manhole cover.

…

…

_ Clang! _

Another manhole cover burst open from the explosive water pressure below it. But it was on the other side of the street, further away from her. They were losing her. 

Valleri let herself heave in a much-needed breath of air, and she scrambled to her feet and bolted the other way, the soaked edges of her cloak sticking to her ankles as she fled.

* * *

She  _ just _ needed to act natural, is all.

The crowd didn’t worry her at all. Nope! Not one bit. She had  _ very _ good experiences with crowds,  _ especially _ in the last hour. All she had to do was find a group of people and insert herself; they were all headed to the same place anyway.

Complaints rippled through the crowd huddled around the tram station as a guard was forced to close the doors and send the tram off, making everyone else wait. They were operating at  _ beyond _ maximum capacity. Her fault, no doubt. Everyone in the city wanted to get away from her, even herself.

Valleri bit her lip, tapping her foot impatiently.  _ Just _ act natural.  _ Just _ act natural.

Nervousness sat in her stomach, clawing at her internals. She was very,  _ very,  _ tempted to forget the tram and take her chances elsewhere, but this wasn’t Earth. Outside of the few main exits, she had no reason to believe any pathway through these giant underground caverns would be at all safe, or even that they’d  _ lead _ anywhere. Not to mention anything that could be creeping within.

She didn’t have the skill, nor the bullets to even consider it.

She briefly toyed with the idea of enlisting the help of that friendly stag, but she shook her head. She barely had enough money for a crowded tram, much less a ride on the Stagway. She had been lucky that he had taken pity on her the first time, and she was sure that generosity wouldn’t be offered again.

Damn it. She just had to wait, then.

Valleri glanced behind her. It revealed nothing, except that she was still stranded in this sea of bugs. The rain did nothing to help anyone’s mood. They were effectively stuck in it, and unless they were willing to forfeit their place in the tram mob, they would have to stay in it.

It was strange, few people in the City actually  _ liked _ the rain. Mostly, the only people who liked it were new arrivals who couldn’t even  _ dream _ of such a thing. A  _ city _ with  _ eternal rainfall _ that’s  _ underground? _

Contrary, the drizzle gave Valleri a sense of security, for no reason other than it was  _ normal. _ She was sick of the strange, of the inexplicable, of that  _ slight _ misalignment between expectation and reality that snowballed into something that got her accused of  _ murder _ in a  _ parallel universe-- _

“‘Scuse me?”

Oh no, she was  _ not _ falling for this shit again.

...

“E-Excuse me?”

...

_ pitter. patter. _

_... _

“E-Excuse me, ma’am?”

“What.”

Through her cloth mask and glasses, she could see another figure beside her, a head or two shorter than she was, her navy blue cloak soaking wet from the rain. She wore a simple mask, two eyes dask downwards in a sad expression. She politely tugged at Valleri’s sleeve, like a lost child looking for her parents. There seemed to be a lot of those types in this city.

“D-Do you know where I can find the nearest Stag Station, ma’am? I-I just moved here, and my m-mom’s waiting for me there but I dunno where it is a-and--”

“Shuddup for a sec.”

The child froze. Valleri looked around at the massive crowd, overheard the guard shouting something about delays, and gave a frustrated huff.

“Alright, fine, follow me. It’ll be around here… somewhere.”

Valleri let the child hold onto her sleeve -- she didn’t want to touch  _ anyone _ right now -- and led her through the crowded square like a sad puppy on a leash. Valleri tensed her shoulders, struggled to keep her breathing under control, and wandered in random circles because  _ God dammit _ , she didn’t know where she was going, either.

She made an honest effort to find the Stag Station, she really did. But this _stupid_ city just kept going in _circles_ and everything looked the _same_ and it was all the same sad blue-ish color on _everything_ and the _stupid_ _signs_ made _no sense_ because she couldn’t even _read_ them and this _stupid rain_ kept getting under her _stupid mask_ and people were _everywhere_ and she _hated it_ and this dumb _kid_ clung to her like a _leech_ and the rain was getting her brand-new cloak _soaked_ and she was still being _hunted_ and she had no idea where she was going to go next and she was _lost_ and she was _not stressed out no sirree_ and this stupid rain was going to drive her _mad_ from the _endless_ pitter patter and she wanted to _go home_ and somewhere _dry_ and _warm_ and be _left the fuck alone_ for a good few _years_ and she _hated it all so much--_

“Ma’am? Are you lost, too?”

Valleri would’ve spit into the ground if she could. “No.”

“But ma’am,” she kept going, and Valleri could’ve sworn she heard a hint of  _ smugness _ in the ungrateful brat’s voice, “I thought  _ everyone _ in the City knew where to find the Stag Stations?”

Valleri said nothing.

“Only a  _ newcomer _ like  _ me _ would get this lost, right,  _ ma’am?” _

She suddenly noticed how the square had emptied out, with few civilians still around. The rain was slowing down, from a heavy downpour to nothing but a small drizzle. Everything was too quiet here.

Valleri nodded. “Mhmm. I was wonderin’ how you knew to call me “ma’am” under this big cloak.”

And Valleri punched the child. 

* * *

You at least had to give her credit for trying.

The “child” actually  _ caught _ her fist as she was throwing it. The swift movement made her cloak slip, and Valleri caught a glimpse of a certain Knight that was far too smug for her own good.

Lady Isma, having used her short stature to disguise as a child, threw Valleri’s fist away, knocking the human off-balance just long enough to put some distance between them. Isma clutched at the front of her cloak and threw it off in a single, graceful movement, with the precision of a dancer and the dignity of a knight.

Valleri didn’t see any point in keeping hers on and tugged the stupid, soggy thing over her head. She didn’t care if people were starting to look. She didn’t care.

An arm behind her back and her legs set in a proud stance, Isma raised one arm skyward and let the rainfall shimmer over her. The raindrops around her seemed to freeze in place for a moment, before they all fell together, like the gravitational pull of a planet, and warped under Isma’s fingers until she was holding a thin rapier made entirely of rainwater.

She gave it a few elegant swishes in the air. With surgical precision, Isma cut tiny raindrops in half as they fell, only for those drops to fall  _ into _ the blade, and Valleri had no doubt that the water-sword was  _ just _ as sharp and fatal as a real one.

A crowd had started to gather around them. Some watching in awe, some in terror, some in excitement. ...Was she really doing this shit? Was she really going to fight a witch-knight-plant-person who could manipulate water in a way she’d only ever seen in comic books?

_ Fight? Or flight? _

With well-practiced movements, Isma eased into a fighting stance, eyes closed as she focused on her body, mind and soul; the balance between the rain and herself, the feeling of the  _ flow, _ and she took a deep, careful breath, before letting herself exhale. The zen of the air and the water. The ebb and the flow of her lungs, and the world around her.

“I know not your identity, but it does not matter to me,” Isma breathed calmly, slowly opening her eyes to face her opponent. “If you will not surrender, then I suggest you steel yourself for--  _ H-HEY!” _

Flight it was.

Valleri  _ tore  _ over the ground, knowing she had mere seconds left of her head start. Sure enough, with a flick of her rapier, Isma shot several raindrops towards Valleri like a volley of bullets.

Just as she rounded a corner, Valleri flung her cloak behind her, obscuring her view, and Isma’s rain bullets shot right through it. The shredded blue fabric fell to the ground in a wet lump, and Valleri was nowhere to be seen.

Isma cursed, already moving to pursue. She’d been  _ careless. _ Why was she letting herself get sidetracked? Letting herself get… caught up in the moment? She was a Great Knight, and if her title was to be worth anything, she had to be  _ better _ than this.

She wasn’t frustrated with herself, simply because she didn’t have  _ time _ to be. No more theratics. No more stiff honor. No more trying so hard to be tricky, with something that didn’t even need to try. It could have been her imagination, but Isma thought the world grew more in-focus, her vision shaper, herself more  _ aware. _

No more mistakes. She had to end this, immediately.

* * *

And what did the mask mean to him, anyway?

He held it up to his face, feeling his lungs shake. The gaping, cycloptic eye stared back at him, edges faintly illuminated by candlelight. He shuddered; It must’ve been getting colder in here, possibly from the rain. He made a mental note to ask his servants to work on regulating the Spire’s temperature and humidity better.

The architecture of the City was extremely efficient at doing most of the job -- if he could allow himself to say so, seeing as how he had taken great part in designing it -- but as with everything,  _ some _ level of outside maintenance was always required. Again, for the most part, it was fine as it was, with many of the City’s citizens hardly even noticing any changes or fluctuations.

Oh, the strange  _ certainty _ of their chitin shells. It must be so easy, so  _ low-maintenance. _ He envied it. He envied it when he felt every little change in the cold, he envied it when he struggled to muster up the will to set foot outside his Spire for fear of getting his wings wet--

“Master?”

He envied it when he couldn’t even let his closest and most trusted confidants get a glimpse of his body under the cloak, he envied it when he had to spend so many wasteful hours trying to clean himself, he envied it when he--

“Master.”

He spun around with a start, slamming the mask on his face with enough force to risk injury, holding his cloak around him in a deathgrip. Nobody could be allowed to see him. Nobody at all. He couldn’t allow anyone to see him. He  _ wouldn’t _ allow anyone to see him. Nobody at all. He didn’t know what he’d do if anyone even caught a glance of his silhouette, so he would ensure nobody ever  _ did. _ Nobody at all. Nobody at all. Nobody at--

“Master, what are you doing?”

From behind his one-eyed mask, he blinked, taking a deep, shaky breath, and letting his painful grip on his cloak loosen slightly. Just slightly. 

“Ah, M-Markay--” He felt like some undead monster brooding in a dark lair. “I was merely… d-deciding on a robe for the next meeting.” It was embarrassing, getting caught like this doing… What even  _ had _ he been doing? Ah, right, brooding. He needed to find a new hobby, since painting clearly wasn’t enough to stop him from getting lost in his thoughts.

His assistant just shook his head. “Master, there’s been a report from the City Guard. They believe they’ve found the culprit from the…  _ incident, _ at the pub.”

He blinked under his mask. “H-Have they?” His surprise wasn’t feigned; he had thought that case would be an unsolvable mystery. Testimonies were conflicting, descriptions were unbelievable, evidence was inconclusive; he could pour over the case files for  _ hours, _ only to be left understanding it even  _ less _ than he initially had. If they believed they had caught the culprit, a part of him hoped the Guard was mistaken; he wasn’t keen to try and open those damn files again.

His assistant, Markay, nodded. “Shall we forward this information to the White Palace?”

He thought for a moment, before shaking his head. “Not yet, perhaps. Best not to drag the Crown into this if it turns out to be a false alarm. Run an investigation on the suspect first, ensure this isn’t a misunderstanding.”

Markay averted his gaze from his master’s cycloptic gaze, fidgeting. “That… may not be possible at the moment, Master.”

Lurien tilted his head in confusion, silently asking for Markay to elaborate.

“The Guard… still hasn’t  _ secured _ the suspect, Master.”

“...Oh.”

“They’re in pursuit as we speak. Many citizens are already evacuating or sheltering for the time being.”

_ “Oh.” _

Markay took a deep, very professional breath. “What are your orders, Master?”

Lurien thought for a moment. Considering the nature --  _ and victims -- _ of this case, this culprit was a threat not only to public safety, but to diplomatic relations with neighboring states. Not to mention, with Kingsday fast approaching, it wouldn’t do good to have such an important holiday muddled by threats of terrorism. The continuing peace of Hallownest as a whole rested on his shoulders. This was a threat that needed to be contained and dealt with, swiftly and without mercy.

“The city is to be placed in a state of emergency. Double street patrols and lock down all exits. Order citizens to shelter within their own homes. Any high ranking officers not already in pursuit of the culprit are ordered to do so.”

Markay seemed startled by the admittedly staggering forces his Master was ordering him to deploy, but he held his professional stance. “Your will shall be done, Master.”

Before he could turn to leave, Lurien asked, “Who is already pursuing the suspect at the moment?”

Markay closed his eyes, trying to remember the details. “The report stated that… Great Knight Isma, was pursuing the culprit personally.”

“...Oh. Well, forget it, then.”

Markay blinked. “I-I’m sorry?

“Forget it, I said. Isma alone shall be more than enough for this. Quite frankly, it may be a waste of resources, even.”

Markay stared at him incredulously for a long moment. Lurien couldn’t blame him; it was far too easy for many to underestimate the expertise of the Great Knights. But they had been selected for their positions for a reason( _ selected,  _ not inherited, he couldn’t help but remember. What a time that had been for them all.), and they were all more than ready to show their titles were not merely for show. (Isma especially, above all. He wouldn’t dare breathe so much a word of this, but  _ Wyrm, _ what a hothead.)

“So, just to be clear--” Markay let his formalities fall for a brief moment to try and comprehend his Master’s understandably insane-sounding proclamation, “...Your orders for the standing guard, and the City as a whole, are to… do  _ nothing?” _

“Precisely. Carry on exactly as you are.”

A choked silence. “H-Have you  _ that much _ faith in Lady Isma, Master?”

“In her, and in all of the King’s Great Knights.”

His servant, ever so loyal, looked like he wanted to protest, but sighed. “A-As you command, my Master. Shall I at least order a small group of guards to properly apprehend the culprit when… everything calms down?”

“Of course. Just a handful will do.”

Markay nodded, bowing respectfully before turning away to issue his Master’s will elsewhere. Lurien shuddered again, his paws running over his mask from the sleeve of his robe. He still needed to ensure every last environmental imperfection in his Spire was remedied permanently. This tower -- and by extension, himself -- would need to last a very, very long time, after all.

What did the mask mean to him, anyway?

Not much, but he prayed that as a symbol, it would outlive him, immortalize him, forever stand as a symbol of protection, of safe dreams, of sacrifice, of devotion, of everlasting peace for the Hallownest he loved so dearly.

Herrah and Monomon would call it a symbol of death.

“Oh, and if I may?”

Lurien barely turned his head, more to alert Markay of his attention than of any attempt to make eye contact. From halfway behind a half-closed door frame, Markay gave a small smile.

“I feel the crimson robe suits you best. You know how His Majesty adores those.”

He closed the door respectfully behind him, and now the room was too damn  _ warm. _

* * *

Valleri stumbled forward, a sheer mess of limbs carrying her. Legs, arms, all keeping her moving as fast as she could. Ducking through alleyways, trying a bit too hard to be unpredictable and erratic.

Right. Left. Left.

The more lost  _ she _ was, the more  _ lost _ she was. The better. (It didn’t matter if it was bullshit; she wasn’t even going to let herself think it was bullshit, because the bullshit was all she had left. Even her stupid cloak was gone.)

And what of that six-eyed Knight that was hunting her down? She acted more like a  _ mercenary _ than any royal warrior or whatever. If she was willing to stoop to pretending to be a child, what did that say for Valleri? Forget about jail, Greenie might actually  _ kill  _ her.

She ran by what looked like a garbage can, and internally debated whether to knock it over to hinder pursuers, deciding against it in a split second.

She still couldn’t wrap her mind around that. What Narc actually would disguise herself as a  _ child? _ ...Wait, “Narc” was for drug cops, wasn’t it? Did… did she know any slang terms for  _ knights? _

Valleri shook her head, her hair getting soaked and stringy from the eternal rainfall. She needed shelter, but that could wait until after she’d escaped from--

_ KA-THUNK! _

Valleri was flung forward, throwing her arms in front of her face, her thick leather jacket protecting her from breaking teeth on the cobble backroads.  _ Fuck-! _

Looking over her shoulder, blowing stray, wet hair out of her eyes, she spotted a grey, shivering mass of limbs tangled between her ankles.

The small bug-boy reared his head up, careful not to let his horns scrape on anything, he locked eyes with Valleri, who blanched in impending doom as Lenny’s eyes watered in recognition.

“V-Vuh-Vuh….V- _ VALLERIIII--!” _ Lenny cried as he leapt towards her, bawling his eyes out as he tried to pound his weak fists against her shoulders.

Valleri sputtered. _ “Ssuhuwhsuwshutthefuckupkid--!” _

_ “Wuh-Whyyyyyyyyy--!” _ Lenny sobbed. “I-I-I thought t-that you needed help, ah-and you, you- you  _ l-lied!  _ T-t-that’s so  _ mean!” _

“Bud, if you don’t get the  _ hell _ off of me I swear to God--”

“I’m gonna turn you in!” he practically screamed into her chest. “A-And they’ll throw you in  _ jail _ for  _ lying _ and you’ll be there  _ forever and ever!” _

Valleri managed to overcome his (maybe justified) fit and prop herself up on her elbows. She opened her mouth to tell Lenny to get out of her sight, when something else caught her attention. Further back into the alleyway, hovering a few feet above the ground, was what looked like a large bubble of water. Floating like a ghost, absorbing any rain that fell into it, it rushed forward, accelerating towards Valleri.

Except with Lenny here, he’d get hit by it first.

“Fucking-  _ MOVE!” _ , Valleri shouted, roughly shoving Lenny out of her lap, sending him tumbling into the wet stone. (It wasn’t raining anymore, it had stopped a while ago, how the  _ hell _ hadn’t she  _ noticed--) _

Valleri only had time to take a single deep breath before the sphere of water crashed straight into her head. Luckily for her, it  _ didn’t _ rip her skull right off of her shoulders like a cannonball, but rather, stuck to her head and floated with her, trapping her within from the neck up.

She desperately clawed at her face, only for her hands to splash against the sphere’s surface to no effect. Trying to rip it off of her only made the water fall through her fingers and back into the sphere, like the water had its own gravitational pull centered on her head. She would’ve thought it was the coolest thing ever, if she wasn’t so  _ terrified. _

She couldn’t breathe.

_ She couldn’t breathe. _

She could barely see through the clear, but rippling water. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t hear. She couldn’t breathe. Her frantic thrashing against a wall only burned what precious little air she had left in her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. She was drowning. She was drowning. She was drowning. She was going to die here. She was going to die.

Creature.

Valleri jumped, slapping her hands to her ears, creating two splashes on either side of her tiny planet of water. Something was rippling through the water, something like a voice. She squeezed her eyes tight, desperately hoping it was a dream, that it was all a bad dream, that she’d wake up once she ran out of air.

And suddenly, something cleared up.

The water fell to only cover her mouth and nose, acting more as a mask than a helmet. She was only riding out a brief mercy in the middle of a panic attack, but at least she was only being suffocated, and not completely deprived of almost all sense.

Still reeling, still feeling her lungs  _ burn, _ she wearily glared up to the top of a nearby building, walling the alley she was huddled in. The rain had come to a complete halt, hearalding the arrival of the fucking  _ yeah _ of  _ course _ it was that bitch again.

“Creature,” Isma repeated. “You are under arrest on suspicion of murder. Surrender immediately, or I am to use lethal force.”

Valleri had less than a minute to live.

* * *

It  _ had _ to be over now.

Isma, standing on a high ledge overlooking the alleyway, her rapier pointing down at the  _ creature _ threateningly, who writhed and withered under her suffocating mask. There was no way to escape now, she was certain of it. Even if the slippery  _ thing _ somehow got out of sight now, every pathway in and out of the City was likely sealed off now. Nowhere to run, and certainly nowhere to hide.

A part of her was satisfied. Would she be able to finally put this all to rest? Finally get a good night’s sleep for once? But another part of her wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure it could ever be over with. Wasn’t sure  _ she _ could ever be over it. 

Her fist tightened around her rapier, the watery surface warping under her fingers. Why hadn’t the creature surrendered yet? This could only go on for so much longer.

“W-Wuh-Wait-”

Isma was snapped out of what felt like a trance, and looked down at--

“L- _ Lenny?” _ Isma asked, genuinely surprised. “What are you doing here? You should be-- Erm…” In her determination to hunt down the killer, she’d completely left Lenny behind in the dust, hadn’t she? 

That… perhaps wasn’t the best move.

“L-Lady Isma, please…” Lenny was struggling to hold back tears. Why were they crying? The thing was caught, and as long as she was here, everything should be okay, right? “P-Please… don’t k-kill Miss Vuh-Valleri.”

Valleri? Glancing over, she noticed the creature’s eyes darken in thinly-veiled frustration. Something told Isma she’d be screaming right now if not for her mask.

But…  _ don’t _ kill her?

“S-She, uh, s-saved me from the… th-the water thing. She p-pushed me, out of the way, miss…”

The water thing? What water thing? And she..?

...Oh no. Wyrm dammit, she nearly attacked a  _ child. _

Isma tried to mumble out an excuse, or some kind of explanation, before she forced herself to shut up. It… didn’t matter, right? No, it didn’t. She was in control here. Not this “Valleri” thing, and not Lenny. The child was unharmed anyway. It came close, but it was a mistake she could move on from and live with, just so long as she finally took down this  _ damn _ murderer.

Well aware that she hadn’t responded to Lenny’s pleas, she turned back to the creature, who by now must’ve had only had a sliver of air left in their lungs. “Regardless, creature, you are ordered by the Crown to--”

**_BANG!_ **

Isma only saw a flash of fire in the center of her vision, before she screamed and stumbled over the edge of the building. Her hands dug into her rapier with a grip strong enough to break through the water and dig into her palms. For a few moments, she felt her stomach climb up into her throat as wind rushed past her, the ledge of the building falling away from her as she was pulled down, down, down, the rain falling around her--

She willed something beyond herself to pull together, and she landed on her back onto a large cushion of water, the surface tension letting her bounce on it harmlessly instead of splashing into the water, acting more like rubber than water. As her panicked heart slowly stopped threatening to beat out of her chest, she let the water cushion melt away and fall into the drains nearby.

She gave a sideways glance over to where the Valleri was, only to see a small puddle of water around where she sat thrashing against a wall but a moment ago. In her brief terror, her control of the water mask keeping her pinned had fallen, and the creature just barely managed to escape with her life.

Isma struggled to comprehend what even happened. She looked down into her rapier, and within its watery visage, she spied a small, metallic pellet, embedded within its hilt. The water within the blade part of the sword was… torn, somehow, and  _ warm.  _ This Valleri must’ve somehow launched this pellet  _ right _ into the tip of her sword, and Isma suspected that if she weren’t exerting so much control over the water that made it up, it would’ve kept going  _ through _ her sword and straight into her body.

That kind of precision with a ranged weapon, especially one this small, was… uncanny. And from such a low vantage point, while  _ also _ drowning… Isma froze.

The much more realistic scenario was that this was just… an accident. Isma had only  _ accidentally _ blocked the projectile, moving at such speeds that she didn’t even get to see it mid-flight. The only reason Isma wasn’t injured, or even dead, was because of  _ sheer, dumb luck. _ And something about that made her  _ sick. _

“A-Are you alright, Lady Isma?!”

Lenny’s concerned cries brought Isma back into focus, where she forced a smile for the boy. “I-I’m fine! Merely startled, is all.” 

She was fine. She’d  _ be _ fine, anyway. It would be fine to put up a lie. At least a lie was better than a mistake. “Lenny, it’s not safe to be outside at this time. Go back home if you can, or otherwise, go to the guard barracks, tell them I sent you. Can you do that for me?” 

Lenny shakily nodded, half-dried tears still stuck to his face. Isma rubbed his shoulder soothingly, giving him a small, encouraging smile. She stood as he scampered away without a word, away from murder, away from the edge of the law, away from her mistakes. Isma could only sigh as she turned back around. She couldn’t rely on dumb luck anymore. She couldn’t make mistakes anymore. She had to cover all bases, close in from all sides, and finish this quickly. No matter what it took.

She eyed the puddle where Valleri once was. The rain had started again, making it impossible to follow any footprints or trails of water from her mask. But she  _ had _ nearly just suffocated; she couldn’t have run far without needing a break to breathe. And in her haste, she would surely be sloppy in covering her tracks. She’d surely make mistakes.

She couldn’t be far.

* * *

Hahahahahahaha.

This  _ sucked. _

Valleri had broken into a random building with no regard for what it looked like or what it might be used for. She’d slammed the heavy backdoor behind her and slowly fallen to her knees, heaving in for much-needed air as she sat with her back pressed against the door. 

At some point, her terror had warped into some kind of manic amusement, like walking out of a haunted house, still thoroughly shaken but just starting to see the fun in her adrenaline high.

Except this wasn’t fun. Being hunted like some runaway cattle wasn’t fun. Being nearly drowned wasn’t fun. Being lost in some bizarre, alien world with nothing to her name and treated like some revolting  _ thing _ wasn’t fun. She had nothing, was headed nowhere, and her pitiful little life could be extinguished at any moment.

But she was laughing anyway. She didn’t know why. She was probably going batshit crazy.

Slowly, she stood up, glancing around. Where even  _ was _ she? It was dank and cold in here, and judging from the lack of furnishings, it was likely either some kind of basement or storeroom. The room was lines with shelves containing books she couldn’t read, some weird plants she didn’t recognize and---

“Are these like… action figures, or somethin’?” She pulled one of the small, white rocks from the shelf. It was carved into a mostly ovular shape, with a sharp crown circling along the top, adorned in marble robes and a porcelain mask. Something meant to depict a… king? Whatever, they probably weren’t too important anyway.

_ Drip… _

She cautiously put down the figure, nerves suddenly alight.

_ Drip… _

Her head turned to where the sound was coming from. A few drops were seeping through the brick of the basement. In the dull silence, their impact sounded as loud as a gunshot.

She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t let herself calm down and breath, succumbing to the cold, frizzy panic. She  _ couldn’t  _ help it. A basement in a city of eternal rain was going to leak, but after everything that had happened in the last hour, having been almost drowned to death by a  _ knight who could bend water to her will _ and who had caught a  _ BULLET... _

She couldn’t help but feel a  _ little fucking nervous. _

She edged away from seeping bricks. It was perfectly natural rainwater.  _ Perfectly natural.  _ Probably. The drips soon turned into seeps, dribbling down onto the floor. Valleri began looking for a staircase or ladder or  _ anything _ to an upper floor. It probably wasn’t being caused by that royal bitch, but she didn’t want to get wet and find out. 

By the time she found a stout, stone staircase, the seeping had turned to full on gushing of water through the cracks. She might’ve had her doubts earlier, but this was definitely unnatural.

This was never going to end.

She heard a dribble of water behind her. Spinning around, she saw streams of water flowing down the stairs. She spotted splurts of water squeezing through the crack in the door she used to get in here. The support beams groaned as the water seeped through the cracks and pores into her aquatic prison.

Fuck. Fuck, she couldn’t stop  _ shaking. _

One of the screws keeping the back door attached to its frame suddenly popped off from the pressure, and Valleri decided that flight had gotten her out of trouble more than fight had by now.

She sprinted up the staircase, her footsteps splashing softly behind her before she slipped and nearly smashed her jaw on the top stair. Glancing down, she saw her ankle had been caught by a hand made of water, rising from the river flowing down around her. It tugged to pull her back into the basement below, where she jumped as she heard the metal door  _ blow _ off of its hinges, and the basement flooded, the water level quickly rising up the stairs, one at a time.

Throwing her head up, she managed to catch a glimpse of the interior of the building proper. Rows of pews, large stained-glass windows with streams of rainwater falling down, refracted beautifully by the Lumafly lamps outside in the street, all completely devoid of life.

She was in some kind of… church? Bug God probably didn’t favor her very highly. (Or maybe He did, if she’s gotten this far?)

Although Hallownest mostly used Lumafly lanterns for everything, fire was still occasionally used for recreation, warmth, and in religious ceremonies. A large chandelier of candles hung suspended from the ceiling by a single, dark chain.

Valleri whipped out her revolver, mentally noting that this was her second shot out of six, and took a shot at the single supporting chain. Whatever God this church worshipped must have favored her more than she thought, as her shot fired true, and with a sharp  _ clang!, _ the entire chandelier came crashing down in a massive heap of warped metal, broken wood, and most importantly, of fire.

The water grabbing her by the ankle quickly receded, letting her go. Valleri didn’t even stop to think before scrambling to her feet and storming into the church’s main hall, already searching for another way to ascend higher. She hardly got a few steps before she staggered, the doors to the church bursting open, a torrent of water rushing in and homing in on the fire she made to quickly extinguish it. She took that as her cue to keep moving.

She managed to find a small ladder in a back closet that led up to the top floor, a storage room with a large, spherical window at the end. She recognized the pattern, but didn’t know what it meant; six wings and a tall, sharp crown. ...Wait, that action figure in the basement had that same crown. Well, whatever if that was their God.

She collapsed to the safety of the floor, letting herself rest for just a small moment. She just needed to breathe, feeling her heart start to slow down, the sweat start to roll up her neck, she should be able to hide out in--

…

…

...

...The sweat rolling…  _ up _ her neck?

Valleri threw herself to the floor, desperately clawing at her neck. She could feel the wetness of the  _ single drop of water _ on her fingers, but it didn’t come off. It continued its march along her skin despite her struggles, and Valleri wasn’t keen to find out where it was headed. She half-ran, half-fell her way over to the other end of the attic-like space, desperately searching for a towel or  _ something _ to get this damn  _ water _ off of her.

From somewhere overhead, she heard a doink, a knock, and then a glass ceiling she didn’t even know was there  _ shattered. _

Valleri yelped, rain pouring in as glass shards clattered to the floor, and like some wicked angel of death, Isma descended from above, suspended in mid-air by the rain drops all around her. Her gaze betrayed no expression as her feet gracefully touched down to the floor, mindful of the broken glass without needing to glance around her.

“I  _ knew _ I had recognized this,  _ Valleri,” _ she spat with a venom Valleri didn’t know was possible. She raised her blade, displaying the bullet she’d fired earlier embedded in its watery hilt.

“I’ve only seen this small, metallic…  _ thing, _ once before. Can you guess where?”

Valleri remained silent as she shakily rose to her feet, staring Isma dead in the eye. Her hands twitched at her sides. She was bloody, bruised, dripping wet and freezing cold. She couldn’t run, and she was outmatched. She was so  _ tired _ of all this.

Isma tilted her head, her six eyes curved upwards in a twisted, forced smile. “I found another one at a murder scene.”

“That wasn’t  _ fucking me!” _ Valleri shouted. She was  _ so tired _ of  _ all of this. _ “I don’t  _ know _ what’s going on! I don’t even know how the  _ hell _ I wound up in this  _ backwards fucking kingdom!” _

She didn’t have the strength to fight anymore, only the strength to fight back at the tears creeping up in her eyes. Tears of frustration, tears of feeling lost, tears of feeling hopeless and cornered and beaten and  _ hurt _ and being treated like some  _ wild animal _ because of something you couldn’t even  _ comprehend. _

“So you deny everything…” Isma mused. She let the bullet drop out of her sword and fall into her waiting hand, before pocketing it as evidence to use against her later. If there  _ was _ a later. The seam Valleri had put in her sword closed, and Isma raised her rapier, sharp as ever, straight at Valleri.

Maybe it was just all the water flowing around them, maybe it was just from the overwhelming stress she was under, but Valleri thought she saw a glint of something in Isma’s eye; some kind of blinding, stabbing  _ hatred, _ something that neither of them could resist, nor understand.

“I’ll say it one final time. Surrender.”

The raindrops froze around her. The water froze. Isma froze. Valleri froze. Time froze. Her heart froze. Her mind froze.

Everything froze, in the same way the whole world freezes when you’re in midair, at the very peak of your flight for a split second that lasts far too long, just before everything comes crashing down all around you.

Blinking tears away, Valleri’s hand flew to her gun, and she leveled the barrel straight at Isma’s head.

_ “LEAVE ME THE  _ **_FUCK ALONE!_ ** _ ” _

She never pulled the trigger. The stray raindrop on her neck  _ dug _ into her skin, startling her out of making the shot by a scraping fraction of a second. Just enough for Isma to launch every last raindrop straight at her.

Several missed and shattered the intricate stained-glass window behind her, but most struck their target, some firing straight  _ through _ her body like a volley of bullets, others only leaving a strong enough impact to send her bullet-riddled body flying backwards through the window, and into the open air above the streets.

For a haunting second, Valleri just  _ floated _ there. Everything was frozen. Her toes just barely touching the very edge of the windowsill, colorful shards of glass floating along with her as she struggled to think through the sheer  _ pain _ her body was in.

She caught one final glimpse of Isma, rearing her arm back as she threw her rapier with immense force and surgical precision, straight into her chest. The impact of being impaled was strong enough to send Valleri fully backwards, too far gone to return, and all too quickly, everything came crashing down.

Her body was on fire.

And then she was falling.

Something broke, and she stopped thinking.

* * *

Isma only stared on as Valleri’s body launched backwards and into the street, crashing unceremoniously into a cloak vendor’s stall across the square. The very same vendor where she first met Valleri, she recalled -- the irony of it was not lost on her -- but it made no difference.

She’d done her job. The City was safe. The killer was…

As the alien creature lay atop a broken pile of shellwood and fabric, her rapier already returning to regular water within her chest, Isma could tell that she was barely, just barely, still breathing, from the steady rise and fall of her chest.

Good. 

That was… good, she thought. Were things better this way? Did she hope she killed her?  _ Should  _ she have killed her?

She clenched her fists. Now that her mission was completed, her anger draining away, she mentally kicked herself. It was clear, even to her, that much of this was just personal vengeance. She couldn’t help it. And if she couldn’t help it, then maybe she shouldn’t have completed this mission. (Maybe she shouldn’t have been knighted.)

...No. This was good, wasn’t it? One way or another, the City was peaceful again. That… case, could finally make some actual headway with a suspect within custody. Maybe she could finally be at peace, with herself if with nothing else.

“O-Oh! Lady Isma!”

A call from below pulled her out of her thoughts, and she looked down to see two City guards waving up at her from the streets below. They almost looked familiar.

“We’re just here to apprehend the suspect on the Watcher’s orders, and, ah… probably hospitalize them, too,” he said, eyeing Valleri’s unconscious form warily. “I forgot to ask earlier, but... can we get your autograph?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Riders on the Storm by The Doors.  
> Other musical references in this chapter include:  
> Biz Markie (artist)
> 
> Happy 4th anniversary Hollow Knight :)
> 
> And even though this is actually for the other story and not this one, I still want to say thank you for 10,000 hits AND for the TV Tropes mention! It's hard to believe we've gotten this far when we're only just getting started with our story plan, but the positive feedback has been amazing! Thank you all so much!!!!
> 
> We've also decided to make a Discord server for this series! I'll try to make a hyperlink in both this story and the main one, but for now here's just the invite code: PYXCv9tUPg
> 
> I love brutalizing both of my main protags in two adjacent chapters :) next chapter for the main fic is next. Please leave a comment and we hope to see you then! (no srsly, comments are both Piston and I's lifeblood)

**Author's Note:**

> [We have a playlist for all our musical references here! (Mostly stuff from the main fic, it's all lumped together)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4hwkWAmxCw92Kcq6TWVznh?si=UagS5vfjQzSlWN_RDJ_Efw) (Warning for potential spoilers, but idk what you could figure out just from music)
> 
> Join our [Discord server!](https://discord.gg/PYXCv9tUPg)


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